memories
by a beautiful catastrophe
Summary: there is nothing you want more than for someone to tell you that everything will be okay.


**for violet (**_drkness'sdaughter_**) because awesomeness. that is a legit reason.**

* * *

**i. susan:**

You spend your time thinking about Narnia. Narnia — oh how you want to go back there, to see your people greet you, their queen, Susan the Gentle. To see Aslan, to see Mr. Tumnus. And Caspian..._Caspian_. Your dearest Caspian.

_But Narnia is a dream for fools_, your conscience tells you. _Narnia is for children, sweetheart, and you're supposed to be a prim, proper, beautiful grown up lady, aren't you, hon? Narnia is for children, and children can never be beautiful, can they, sweetie?_

It's true that you've always wanted to be beautiful like your mother, with her long, silky ebony hair and snow white complexion. And you still want to be.

But you have to choose between beauty and your love right now. Your heart or mind. Your body or soul. To be a child, or to be a lady. Narnia — _Caspian_, or to be beautiful.

_Narnia is a fake_, your conscience whispers silkily._ Narnia is a fantasy, imaginary. Aslan doesn't exist. Nor does Mr. Tumnus. And of course, Caspian—_

your heart nearly rips itself out of your chest at the mention of his name.

—_Caspian isn't real either._

And now you feel like you are suffering, choking, by the force of a million shards of glass being pierced into your side.

_Your siblings are deluded_, your conscience continues. _Lucy came up with such a lie. Edmund decided to build up on that. And Peter played along for fun. As did you. But then your brother, Peter slipped far away into nothingness and this— this new Peter came along and began to believe. Narnia is just a childhood game that you used to play that became so much more of a deal than it should've been._

And then you walk into your room, look into the full length mirror and swoosh your scarlet red lipstick over your lips before pouting once.

Not to mention, you shake that mental battle off, because only deluded people do things like that, and you are a prim, proper, beautiful grown up lady.

Ignoring the dull throbbing in your chest, you smile brightly and walk away. And as you do, you think, _Narnia was never real_.

* * *

**ii. caspian:**

"I love you."

_I don't love you_, you think.

"As do I." you say forcibly.

_I don't_, you repeat to yourself.

Lilliandil flashes you a brilliant smile, and grips your hand tighter than necessary.

She leans in to kiss you, and you no choice but to do the same. Reluctantly, you lean futher in and then your lips meet. Inwardly, you groan and force your eyes shut.

It's not that she's a bad kisser or anything, it's just that— just that she's...not _Susan_. You can feel her hands in your hair as she presses her lips harder against yours, and her hands are too slender, too smooth, too soft and too pale for your liking. They're not _Susan's_ hands, which are tanned, chafed and tough from hours of archery training.

You wonder if she is still the same, if she still remembers you, if she is going to come back to Narnia.

And suddenly, this girl in front of you does not have long, flowing golden strands of hair, she does not have luminous, almost translucent skin, her name is not Lilliandil — this girl that you are now kissing is Susan and you don't want to let her go. Her face is permanently etched in your mind — you move one of your hands to trace her high cheekbones before finding them tangled in her soft, ebony hair. You see her smiling— smiling so brightly in that _Susan_ way of hers and—

It all stops and you open your eyes.

You see your hands tangled in _Lilliandil's_ hair, you see _Lilliandil_ smiling—

The only thought that runs through your head is, _she is not Susan._

* * *

**iii. susan:**

You sit on the tiny windowsill, arms hugging your knees, knees against your chest.

There is nothing you want more than for someone to tell you that everything will be okay.

* * *

**iv. caspian:**

You are waiting for a tomorrow where you will find your own, personal paradise.

But waiting seems to take forever. Maybe it'll be worth it in the end.

* * *

**fin.**


End file.
